


Praying nuns, weeping queens

by the_alchemist



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Richard III - Shakespeare, Wars of the Roses RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 03:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_alchemist/pseuds/the_alchemist
Summary: In an alternate medieval Europe, with an all-female church hierarchy, Elizabeth Woodville struggles to find safety for her daughters after the murder of her sons. She thinks she has powerful allies in the new Borgia pope, and in Cardinal Margaret Beaufort's secret 'Council of Women', but all is not what it seems.And besides, her eldest daughter Bess is more interested in power than in safety, with devastating consequences.





	Praying nuns, weeping queens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [La Reine Noire (lareinenoire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lareinenoire/gifts).



> Mish-mash of canons, I fear: some RPF, some Shakespeare (whose somewhat lax attitude towards timelines and ages I have also imitated). I haven't read any Philippa Gregory, so if I have reproduced her sins, it is entirely my own fault.
> 
> Content note: passing reference to Margaret Beaufort giving birth at thirteen; unhappy ending.

The sun was setting. Elizabeth adjusted her coif and looked out over the meadows, dotted with snowdrops and celandine. For a moment, she felt almost at peace.

Then she frowned, dipped her pen and started to write to her old friend, the scratch of goosefeather on parchment slightly setting her teeth on edge.

> My dearest Lucrezia … I trust I may still call you so in private? I congratulate you from the very bottom of my heart, which near burst from joy when we received the news here on our cold little island …

She sighed and crossed out what she had written. It did not do to be too familiar. She started again.

> To Her Holiness Magdalena I, Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Supreme Pontifactrix, from Queen Elizabeth of England, greetings …

A knock on the door.

“Come.”

She swivelled around on her broad oaken chair, carved with roses and lilies. ‘Mother’s throne’, the boys had called it, even though in those days she had a real throne too. She let herself feel the pang of loss only for a moment before smiling at her daughter, who swept in, every bit the queen already, and gave the merest nod of her head in lieu of a bow.

‘Wait there,’ Bess said to some unseen attendant, and shut the door. ‘May I sit down, mother?’

‘Of course.’ She felt a little burst of joy: spending time with her daughters was always a treat.

Bess plonked herself down on the cushioned windowseat, and drew her legs up beneath her: no longer queenly, but every bit as charming. Besides, what she lacked in grace, she made up for in beauty. The lock of hair escaping from her untidy coif was a reddish gold, much richer than Elizabeth’s had ever been. Her cheeks were flushed a lovely pink: fitting for the girl who was to unite the white rose and the red.

‘I trust you have made your decision,’ Elizabeth said.

Bess nodded, then, seeming to remember herself, untucked her legs and sat up properly. Elizabeth hid a smile. ‘I have decided not to marry him,’ Bess said.

Elizabeth sighed. She had truly believed that Bess would see sense: she never put her heart over her head, and even if she did … well, Henry Tudor was a handsome man, and by all accounts kind. He was young, strong, and – if his relationship with his mother was anything to go by – quite willing to take the counsel of women.

She kept her voice calm. ‘May I ask your reasoning?’ she said.

‘You may,’ Bess said. ‘I have been studying books of law. I have been thinking, praying and reasoning it out.’

Of course she had. Bess’s reason was a lofty, towering thing that sometimes left her mother in awe.

‘And the fact is,’ Bess continued, ‘that the throne is quite simply my inheritance. It is my right, my duty and my fate to rule on my own behalf, in my own name. If Henry Tudor wished to become my consort, that would be one thing, but he wishes to take the name of king, to usurp what is mine.’

Elizabeth nodded slowly. Bess had hinted at this before, but it was the first time she had stated it so boldly. It would be necessary to tread very carefully indeed. ‘I understand your reasoning,’ Elizabeth said. ‘But a woman cannot be a king any more than a man can be pope.’

Bess shook her head solemnly, a professor correcting an errant pupil. ‘It is very different,’ she said. ‘Only a woman could have borne Jesus in her womb. Only a woman could have held up his body and said: ‘this is my body’ … well, apart from Jesus himself, and it would be sacrilege to put anyone else in his place. Besides, every one of the apostles was female. There are sound theological reasons why men cannot be priests, let alone popes. And there is precedent for queens regnant too. Matilda–’

Elizabeth held up her hand, and Bess stopped speaking. ‘Matilda tried, and the result was chaos and ruin.’

Bess gave a short laugh. ‘Unlike all the men who have been ruling lately, you mean?’

Elizabeth laughed too. She delighted in her daughter’s wit, even when it was pitted against her. ‘I take your point,’ she said. ‘But it isn’t only about precedent. These books of law you’ve been studying. Did any of them have anything to say about an act of parliament called Titulus Regius? You have perhaps forgotten that – legally speaking, at least – your father was a bigamist for marrying me when he was already betrothed to another, and you are illegitimate.’

‘A thorny problem indeed!’ laughed Bess. ‘Why, I believe that only the pope could repeal Titulus Regius. And how could we possibly get some old woman we’ve never even met to take our side? Oh, but wait!’ She put her flattened hand over her mouth and opened her eyes wide in an expression of mock surprise. ‘Could you remind me what Aunt Lucrezia is doing nowadays, mother?’

Lucrezia Borgia was not, of course, Bess’s aunt: she was her godmother, and for the two happy years when she was Papal Nuncia in London, and Elizabeth was Queen Consort, the two of them had been the closest of friends.

‘You are too shrewd,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But I have not yet arrived at my third and thorniest objection. Neither you nor Henry will sit on the throne until your uncle Richard has been removed from it. Which will not happen without an army. Now, if you have an army tucked away somewhere that I don’t know about – and I wouldn’t put it past you – tell me, and we will think again, but assuming not …’ Her voice faltered, suddenly serious. ‘Assuming not, then the claim you wish to make will come to nothing but an early death for you, and ruin for all of us.’

‘Let us fathom it out,’ said Bess, sitting cross-legged again, and counting out the possibilities on her fingers. ‘One. If Henry Tudor did not acknowledge my claim to the throne, he would not ask for my hand. Two. If he does acknowledge my claim to the throne and wishes to usurp it, then he is a traitor, and you would not have me marry a traitor. Three. If he both acknowledges and supports my claim, he is my loyal subject and must put his army at my disposal whether I marry him or not.’

Elizabeth smiled sadly. ‘Oh love,’ she said. ‘Your logic shines as clear and sharp as glass, and will prove as fragile. I should send you to Rome to learn from Lucrezia. She is a consummate politician.’

Bess considered this. ‘I think I should like that,’ she said. ‘I think she would say my logic shines as clear and sharp as diamonds, and would teach me to make it as strong.’

‘Perhaps she would at that,’ said Elizabeth. ‘She was married too, you know, before her consecration as bishop. She exercised considerable power in her husband’s name. As have many of our English ladies: Marguerite of Anjou, and Cardinal Margaret too. Henry listens to her. He would listen to you as well.’

Bess screwed up her nose. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘You are right that he is still tied to her apron strings, but that would give me less power, not more.’

‘Cardinal Margaret has always been a good friend to our family,’ said Elizabeth.

Bess was staring at her. She looked pale. Her lip was trembling, but something like a laugh came out.

‘What is it, love?’ Since the boys had died, since Bess started to blossom into womanhood, she had now and again suffered from these unfathomable fits of … what? Melancholy?

But usually – as now – she recovered quickly. ‘There are rumours about Aunt Lucrezia, you know,’ she said. ‘They say she killed her brother.’

At least there were some ways in which Bess was still an innocent. ‘That’s not _quite_ what they say about her and Cesare,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Oh, not _that_ ,’ said Bess, dismissively. ‘The other one: Juan. They say she had him murdered.’

Wondering what Bess understood by ‘that’, Elizabeth shook her head. ‘It doesn’t seem likely to me,’ she said. ‘Lucrezia is a ruthless woman, but she loves her family.’

‘And do you love your family?’

‘More than anything, my love.’

‘Then you will keep your promise? You won’t force me to marry?’

It was a promise made in a happier, more innocent time, but still Elizabeth nodded. ‘I will not force you,’ she said. ‘But do not decide just yet. Think on it some more.’

Bess stood and made a deep curtsy. ‘I couldn’t bear it if you hated me,’ she said suddenly.

‘Nothing you could do would make me hate you,’ said Elizabeth.

Bess gave her a strange look, then sniffed a little – was she weeping? – then gathered up her skirts, curtsied and backed out of the door.

Sighing, Elizabeth turned back to her writing desk, took out a new sheet of parchment, and after staring at it for a long time, began to write.

> Holy Mother, beloved friend. I will be to the point, since I know the duties of your office do not leave you with much leisure for private correspondence. I write to you first, and foremost, to give you my most heartfelt congratulations on your ascendance to the Chair of Blessed Mary, whose example, along with that of St Petra, St Mary Magdalene and all the apostles, I know you will follow in godly service, mercy and justice.
> 
> I wonder whether you have had more thoughts on this matter of _Titulus Regius_ which I know Cardinal Margaret raised with you in her last letter? I expect you will have guessed the reason for her interest: it is that she is minded to marry her son, Henry Tudor, to your goddaughter, Elizabeth, whose merry ways so charmed you when we were in London together.
> 
> Elizabeth is fifteen now, quite the scholar and quite the beauty. I had been minded myself to agree to the match, were it not for the fact that Elizabeth herself will not give her consent, thinking that she will be Queen Regnant if she can resist being Queen Consort for long enough.
> 
> Am I wrong to think her naïve in this matter? She is a clever girl, and strong-willed. If I may say so, she reminds me a little of you at that age, which is why I should so especially value your advice. God knows I have never wanted to hold any of my children back, but having lost my poor boys … oh Lucrezia, I fear. I could almost hope that _Titulus Regius_ were found to stand, that my girls might take that little shame in exchange for so much safety …

* * *

 The Council of Women, Cardinal Margaret called it. They met in the tapestry-lined long gallery at Lambeth Palace, ostensibly to discuss charitable works: the endowment of hospitals, schools, colleges, perhaps the only area of secular life in which women could exert influence in their own right.

Cardinal Margaret herself sat at the head of the table, resplendent in her red gown, plain, but of the finest silk. It suited her better than a noblewoman’s fripperies ever had. The stooped old lady in widow’s black to her right was Cecily Neville, whom Cardinal Margaret referred to nowadays as Queen Cecily, reasoning that a mother to two kings deserved the title. To her left was the youngest of them: Queen Anne, whose dull skin and restless eyes, purple bags sagging beneath, spoke of her marital misery. Opposite Elizabeth sat Marguerite of Anjou, whom no-one called ‘queen’ any more but herself. Once Elizabeth’s sworn enemy, they were now united in a common cause.

‘We are agreed then?’ said Cardinal Margaret, her shrewd green eyes taking in each of the others in turn. ‘Richard must die?’

‘Richard should have died long ago,’ hissed Marguerite. ‘God grant that I may wield the dagger myself.’

‘Richard should never have been born,’ said Cecily, her voice cracking with venom. ‘I curse the day I brought him forth.’

Anne shrugged, and gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I could see him buried and still not believe him dead. He is a spider, who will slip through the cracks of any plan we lay.’ She hesitated. ‘But we have to try.’

Elizabeth nodded slowly. ‘I would not be complicit in murder,’ she said. ‘Even of an animal like him. But war is a different matter.’

‘It will be war,’ said Cardinal Margaret. ‘But what will happen after the war?’

‘He will marry my granddaughter,’ said Cecily impatiently. ‘We have discussed this many times.’

Elizabeth sucked in a lungful of air. It was time for her to speak. ‘The pope does not give her consent to the repeal of _Titulus Regius_ ,’ she said.

‘And your Bess thinks she’s too good for my Henry?’ said Cardinal Margaret drily. ‘Oh, don’t look like that, Elizabeth. We all know how headstrong the girl is. But it doesn’t matter. Cecily has another granddaughter. Henry shall have _her_.’

Elizabeth stared. She had been expecting arguments, not … ‘Meg?’ she said. ‘George’s son?’

‘Meg,’ said the Cardinal. ‘I’m having her brought down from Yorkshire.’

‘But the boy?’ said Elizabeth. ‘She has a brother, does she not? If her claim is good, then surely his is better?’

‘I heard the boy’s a halfwit,’ said Marguerite, who appeared to relish the idea. ‘A drooling simpleton who shits his pants and does not yet know his A, B, C.’

Cecily glared at her. She did not like bad language.

‘The boy is unfortunately very unwell,’ said Cardinal Margaret. ‘He is unlikely to live the month.’

Elizabeth tried to think it through quickly. Would Henry Tudor feel threatened by her daughters if he were married to their younger cousin? Would the fear that one day someone could support their claim put them all in danger? Suddenly, what she had said about sending Elizabeth to study with Lucrezia seemed like a good idea. Lucrezia herself had suggested it, and they could all go: they whole family. Besides, the Papal States were different from England: the church had far more power, which meant that women had far more power. Slowly, she nodded. ‘Meg then,’ she said. ‘It sounds like a good plan.’

‘What’s wrong with the boy?’ asked Marguerite, too loudly. ‘I mean, what is the nature of this fatal illness of his?’

Cardinal Margaret looked irritated with her. ‘How should I know? Typhoid, maybe. I hear there was an outbreak somewhere in the north. Or tuberculosis. What does it matter?’

‘It matters,’ said Marguerite, ‘because you would not be content with this plan unless you were certain he would die. And I cannot see how you could be certain without knowing what he will die of.’

‘His physicians report to me on his prognosis,’ said Cardinal Margaret, too quickly. ‘They spare me the details of his symptoms.’

‘Ah … I understand,’ said Marguerite, tapping her nose and winking. ‘A nasty case of getting smothered in his sleep, is it?’

‘Now listen to me–’ said Cardinal Margaret, standing up and hitting the table with her fists, at the same time as Anne started laughing, and Cecily told everyone to hush. Marguerite locked eyes with Elizabeth and said something under her breath, which Elizabeth thought might have been: ‘And it wouldn’t be the first time’.

* * *

In the white-cushioned back of her carriage, Elizabeth considered Marguerite’s words. She was always stirring up trouble nowadays. Once, Elizabeth had thought they had made peace, had high hopes for the Council of Women as a vehicle to guide those who governed England towards a better, kinder way. She had thought there was more that united than divided them. All of them but the Cardinal had buried sons still in childhood or barely out of it. All had been forced into marriage and motherhood far too young: the Cardinal horrifically so, unable to conceive again after giving birth at thirteen.

No, the Cardinal would not harm a child. She had firmly agreed with Elizabeth that had the marriage between Bess and Henry gone ahead, they would not share a bed until she was sixteen. Marguerite’s insinuation was slanderous, obscene. Poor George’s son was sick, that was all. And as for ‘it wouldn’t be the first time’, she shuddered. She didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t want to know.

Bess greeted her at the door to their Whitehall apartments, her bright blue eyes blazing thunder. ‘You made Aunt Lucrezia decide against us,’ she said.

‘Not in front of the servants,’ said Elizabeth vaguely. She had a headache coming on. She widened her stride, so that Bess had to trot to keep up with her.

‘Mother! Mother, listen to me!’

Once they were in Elizabeth’s study, she shut the door and turned on her daughter. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You listen to me.’

Bess made a sulky curtsy. ‘Mother,’ she said.

Elizabeth sank into her oaken chair, and gestured for Bess to sit too. ‘We are going to the Papal States,’ she said. ‘Lucrezia has invited all of us. We will be safer there–’

‘I don’t care about–’

Elizabeth held up her hand. ‘I know you don’t,’ she said. ‘You are a foolish girl. You don’t understand that power is worthless when the price is an early death …’

‘Choice of Achilles,’ spat Bess.

‘… too early to exercise any of that power,’ Elizabeth went on, ignoring her. ‘But that’s beside the point. There is another part to Lucrezia’s offer. If you don’t wish to marry beneath you, and you consider everyone beneath you–’

‘That’s not what I–’

Elizabeth would not be stopped. ‘There is another option. If you wish, Lucrezia will take you under her wing, help you build a career in the church. She believes you have ability to rise to high rank, perhaps the highest.’

Finally, Bess was silent, staring at Elizabeth open-mouthed. ‘There aren’t English popes,’ she said at last. ‘They’re all Italian, aren’t they?’

‘Adriana IV,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Besides, when has lack of precedent ever stopped you before?’

‘It’s … certainly a thought,’ said Bess, and by the gleam in her eyes, Elizabeth knew she had won. At that moment, her heart overflowed with love. Bess was stubborn and headstrong, but she would always listen to reason, even when she was in a temper.

* * *

Outside Lambeth Palace, a boat awaited to take Elizabeth and her daughters down the Thames to Dover. Elizabeth looked down at them from the open window: Bess, Mary, Anne, Catherine, Brigit. Her little flock of ducklings, all sat neatly waiting in a row, starched linen coifs and plain silken caps in red, blue, green, yellow, pink. What was there in England for them but the dangers of the court or the seclusion of a convent? In the Papal States there would be noble husbands, bishoprics, whatever each wanted.

‘We will all come down to see you off,’ Cardinal Margaret pronounced, and the Council of Women stirred to be about it.

The procession numbered thirty or so, once each of the Council members had gathered her attendants. In the bustle as they organised themselves (a reigning Queen half a step in front of a Cardinal; dowager queens next, Elizabeth before Marguerite; followed by Cecily), Elizabeth felt an old dry hand slip something into her own. She turned, but Marguerite was staring in the opposite direction.

Against her better judgment, she unfolded the paper. One phrase was underlined in red paint. ‘… thus the opinion of His Majesty’s Coroner of York is that the child’s death could in no wise be natural …’

Elizabeth went cold. The seal was as it should be, she knew it well from her days as queen. She stared at the Cardinal’s back. Margaret, who had comforted her after little Edward and Richard … after they … _And it wouldn’t be the first time._

No. She wouldn’t think it. She couldn’t … But after all, what motive did the King have? The boys were little threat to him, not after _Titulus Regius_ , and yet he must have known he would receive all the blame: that surely would put him in greater danger. Whereas Henry Tudor stood to gain twice: from the blow to Richard’s reputation, and from … poor Bess. And to think she had encouraged the girl to marry this monster, put her in the power of this monstrous mother.

‘What’s that you have?’

The procession broke order as the Cardinal snatched the paper from Elizabeth’s hands. Their eyes met. Cold eyes, Elizabeth saw, dark and beyond suffering.

‘Walk on,’ said the Cardinal to those in front, firmly taking Elizabeth’s arm. One of Anne’s ladies in waiting stumbled, and another bumped into her.

Elizabeth used the moments of confusion to think quickly. ‘I won’t make trouble,’ she murmured. ‘I just want my girls to be safe.’

The Cardinal gave a curt nod as they started to walk on. ‘Sensible girl,’ she said.

The insult barely registered. _And it wouldn’t be the first time._ She had to know. She _had_ to know. ‘My boys,’ she said, looking straight ahead as they processed out of the palace. ‘Edward and Richard.’

The Cardinal was silent for a few moments. ‘We do what we must,’ she said. ‘We love our sons, and so we all do what we must.’

That was no answer. Elizabeth dug her nails into the Cardinal’s wrist. The Cardinal did not react. If only she had a dagger … Both of them were staring straight ahead, at the five girls, who had stood and were making their curtsies, even little Brigit perfectly in time, as graceful as the rest. No. No daggers. Keeping the girls safe was more important than avenging their brothers.

She jerked her head round and gazed at the Cardinal’s face, placid and venerable. Margaret wasn’t looking at all the girls, but at Bess only, who was flushing red. Without looking, she prised Elizabeth’s hand from her wrist, then whispered in her ears. ‘I could not have done it alone,’ she hissed. ‘Who do you think brought my men the key? Who do you think told the boys to trust them? Look to the viper in your own nest, Elizabeth.’

The Cardinal stepped back. The Council of Women had regained their proper order, and she took her place in its midst.

Elizabeth stared at Bess.

_They say she killed her brother._

_I couldn’t bear it if you hated me._

No, that couldn't be it. And yet, it was not only Henry Tudor who stood to gain.

‘Mother?’ said Bess, her voice hoarse. ‘Mother, what is it?’ Elizabeth said nothing but continued to stare. There was something in Bess's face, something she had not seen before: those bright blue eyes seemed now as cold as the Cardinal’s. She supposed there must be something in her own face too, because the girl staggered. She seemed about to faint, dependable Mary taking her arm and fanning her face.

‘Mother? You said I could never do anything to make you hate me. Mother? Please, mother!’ Bess was weeping openly now, the way she had when she was little. She knelt at Elizabeth’s feet, tugging her skirts. ‘I didn’t know, mother. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was only a child, mother! I didn’t understand, not really. Please mother. Say you forgive me.’

Elizabeth turned to Mary. ‘Take the younger girls back to our carriage,’ she said. ‘I have changed my mind. Bess will go to Rome alone.’

Before Mary could answer, Elizabeth pulled Bess up roughly by the arm and threw her towards the boat. ‘Never speak to me again,’ she said.

‘Mother, please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Her Grace the Cardinal said it would be all right’

Elizabeth turned her back. ‘Come Mary, we shall go to the convent after all.’

‘Mother! Cardinal! I will marry your son, I’ll do anything. You said it would be all right.’

Elizabeth felt nothing any more. She was perfectly calm as she comforted a weeping Brigit. ‘Come now, remember how the sisters made such a fuss of you? We are going to see them again, Brigit. Isn’t it lovely? We will have such a fine time in Bermondsey.’

Bess was screaming now. ‘Mother, mother, mother. I’m frightened, mother. I don’t want to go alone.’

Elizabeth tried to find something in her heart. Pity, anger. Had Edward and Richard cried so when they died? Her headache was returning. She hoped for the boatmen’s sake that the girl would stop screaming soon.


End file.
